The past is never dead. It's not even past
When I was very small, I lived six blocks from the Santa Fe Opera. Our home was in the Tesuque Village, which is really just a country road that runs alongside the Tesuque Creek just north of Santa Fe, with twenty tiny cul-de-sacs stretching up into the alluvial crannies of the southern Rockies. There were […]
Preso en su lecho mi rio pasa, pero se acerca su libertad.Sus aguas dulces ya son saladas; ya no eres rio, eres el mar. A prisoner within its banks, my river rolls on, soon to find freedom.Your sweet waters now have grown salty; you’re no river, now, you are the sea. Charo Cofré Colegio […]
I remember Georgia O’Keeffe. I couldn’t have been but three, first time I met her. She was already an older woman by then, or late middle age, at least. She was tall and perfectly centered, with a slender frame and grey hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore long sleeves and dark jeans. […]
“Where is that terrible beauty we planted so long ago?” -Santiago del Nuevo Extremo Rodolfo Müller is almost a hundred years old, now. He still lives in the same house as always, off Simón Bolivar, between Hamburgo and Coventry. That’s in Ñuñoa, a township on the near west side of Santiago. It’s a big house, […]
They weren’t all the same. We know of at least one soldier who had a conscience. There were several, actually. Most were weighty figures, captains and colonels who refused to follow orders. Some of them quit or went into exile. Others died. But I’m talking about conscripts, the powerless boys who were in military service […]